November 01, 2010

Today's Star-Telegram carried news I've dreaded -- an obituary about the death of a Fort Worth newspaper giant, Phil Record. Phil was 81 and had lived a full life blessed with loving family, admiring colleagues and many honors during his long journalism career.

Phil's legacy will go on for centuries, maybe forever. His resume on TCU's website provides far more perspective than today's story could offer. It's worth reading and contemplating. Thanks to TCU's skiffvideo, there are two interviews with Phil that are on YouTube. There he is in his Notre Dame sweatshirt (he was a proud alum), talking about his career. As compelling as ever. The interviews are here and here.

No one loved journalism and the Fort Worth Star-Telegram more than Phil. I was amazed at the level of S-T ownership he felt. He was known literally around the world in newspaper circles as a champion of ethical practices. He was a lead player in the Society of Professional Journalists' development of an SPJcode of ethics and was one of the primary writers. He was a leading voice as well in the Organization of News Ombudsmen (ONO).

I'd always heard of Phil wherever I worked -- Dallas, Denver, St. Pete, etc. But I never got to meet him until I began work at the S-T in 2000. That was three years after he had retired, but nothing kept Phil out of the newsroom for long. He maintained a close relationship with the paper. And what a delight he was to meet. Jovial, charismatic, sharing questions and thoughts with a contagious laugh. Several times a day every day, S-T editors gather in the Phil Record Conference Room just off the newsroom to go over the news budgets and decide content for the next day's paper and the online product.

I like to think I had a special bond with him. Phil and I each had 7-year tenures as Star-Telegram ombudsman. He was the paper’s first (1990-1997). I was the paper’s last (2001-2008). In between were Paul Harral (the last fulltime ombudsman) and Lance Murray. Phil gave me plenty of advice, much of which is included in this column he wrote in 1996.

My memories of Phil are a massive jumble –- like the piles of odds and ends in every drawer of the huge old wooden desk that all of we ombuddies had used. Phil was always generous in his response whenever I needed guidance, ideas or encouragement.

We shared deep concern about the toxic erosion of news media credibility and some newspaper organizations' lack of response. We shared concern about newspapers' selling out to soft entertainment news and pop culture at the expense of giving strongly focused attention to hard-news coverage.

We shared the same view of the ombuddy role: it’s a ministry. It’s aimed at caring about people and trying to help them. Humility is essential. You check your ego at the door.

We had the same practice: we would pray for strength before and throughout the workday, and we would pray for the intolerant souls we had to deal with, a problem that increased markedly during my tenure as civility in political dialogue vanished and strident denunciation of the free press increased.

Phil was a man of faith. One spring day in 2001 not long after I’d stepped into the ombudsman role, I was cleaning out a bookcase in the ombudsman office and came across a Bible that was Phil’s, according to the filled-in “This Bible belongs to” line.

I called Phil to see if he wanted me to mail it to him. “Keep it,” he said. “You’ll need it.” And remember, he added (I don’t recall his exact words, but I remember his point): Jesus listened. So do good ombuddies.

Got a memory of Phil you'd like to share? Or a complaint or commendation about today's journalism?

October 08, 2010

I’m a huge fan of Miami Herald columnist Leonard Pitts, Jr. His op-ed column today in the Star-Telegram is a good example of why I admire his work.

As usual, Leonard writes about a compelling issue with impressive thoughtfulness and clarity that anyone can understand. Today, he’s venting about why “citizen journalism” isn’t journalism at all. What his view boils down to is an argument that deserves a standing ovation:

“You cannot be a journalist -– citizen or otherwise -– if credibility matters less than ideology.”

I can’t think of a simpler, more effective way to speak that truth.

Amplified by the Web’s awesome power and other new media, ideology and propagandists infest our society and culture at a toxic level, focusing destructive energies on divisiveness instead of dialogue. For instance, have you ever heard talk-show propagandist Sean Hannity tear into someone who challenges one of his views? Hannity tears them apart. So goes ideology's attack. It takes to a new level the impact of the lies, rumors and shuck 'n' jive that have plagued humankind since Day One.

“Every Tom, Dick and Harriet with a blog is a ‘citizen journalist,’” Leonard writes. Well, obviously, not all bloggers view themselves as journalists, but many do, and as I’ve read them, I’ve noted that rhetoric, not verified facts, fill their work. Yes, it's important to share thoughts and reaction. Just don't call that journalism.

There's an entire universe of good blogs that reflect informed work and are worth reading. Check here and find some guidance here. And there’s an excellent local blog -– Fortworthology.

It’s too bad that more “citizen journalists” can’t be authentic journalists digging for and reporting facts -- from pursuing government documentation with Freedom of Information requests to exposing the scandal of potholes. This country of ours needs all the real journalists it can get.

If you’re not a journalist but would like to be, go for it.

I’d suggest, though, that first you read the Society of Professional Journalists Code of Ethics. Might want to note that the preamble speaks of “enlightenment.” Facts and transparency (and good journalists), not mere opinions, provide the light for that state of being.

October 07, 2010

Heard some bittersweet news from Dallas just while ago: Mike Lee, the Star-Telegram’s excellent city hall reporter, is leaving soon to join Bloomberg’s Dallas bureau staff to cover the natural gas industry.

For the S-T, that’s a hard loss of deep, credible institutional knowledge and talent, but it’s a great career move for Mike. It speaks volumes about his talent and why he’s held in such high regard at the paper, at city hall and among readers. Mike’s potent work ethic and deep familiarity with Barnett Shale-related matters will fit well with Bloomberg’s stratospheric level of competitiveness, competence and expectations.

There’s no source for business news that bests Bloomberg, in my opinion. They've been around since 1981, but If you’re not familiar with them, take a look at their website and their about page.

I congratulate Mike and Bloomberg. I wish Mike happiness, prosperity and fulfillment on his new path. I’m sure Mike’s going to be just fine with not having to pull obit duty, a rotating S-T assignment among the short-staffed city desk’s team.

Who will fill Mike’s shoes at city hall? That's a demanding beat that needs to be covered by a passionate, persistent and savvy reporter.

There are excellent backups in Anna Tinsley and Aman Batheja, one of the sharpest and most unflappable political writers around. Perhaps one of them will shoulder the city hall beat temporarily if not permanently. Whoever it is, we wish them the best. I have no doubt that Mike’s boss at the S-T, veteran assistant managing editor John Gravois, will find a capable replacement. Lord knows there’s plenty of hungry talent out there in the debris left by newsroom cuts across the country over the past two years.

Here's something I'm sure is weighing on newsroom managers' minds: Whenever a newsroom loses someone of Mike’s stature, a dreaded domino effect can follow as other staffers are inspired to bail out for opportunities elsewhere.

All newsrooms are vulnerable to that even in these tough times. I certainly had to contend with the domino effect back in my newsroom management days. But I’d guess the S-T’s particularly vulnerable in light of increased duties staff must juggle and disquieting daily uncertainty over when another staff cut may occur. At the same time, current tight conditions in the newspaper job market may blunt the domino effect. Time will tell.

This much is for sure: Bloomberg’s getting one heck of a reporter. The Star-Telegram will find a strong one, too. With the City of Fort Worth struggling with so much -– from a budget-busting pension plan to a retiring city manager, mind-boggling infrastructure challenges, and a fed-up citizenry/electorate expecting solutions –- the Star-Telegram must pump all the strength it can into the city hall beat.

October 05, 2010

After a 43-year career in journalism (mainstream regional dailies in Dallas, Denver and elsewhere) and communications (stints with the Dallas Police Department and political public relations), I’ve been ruminating of late about PR-related experiences.

It’s my wife’s fault.

She’s an APR-certified, down-to-earth and very wise veteran public relations practitioner who, in my purely objective estimation (I kid you not, because professionalism rules both of us), could run any company’s communications department. I respect her mightily and the admirable recommendations she has for the Public Relations Society of America (PRSA) that she’s sharing with that organization, but that’s another story. Don't get me started.

As she has prepared those recommendations, I’ve overheard her anguish over everything from whether her ideas carry validity to the wording and processes involved in presenting them.

On my end, I’ve reflected about how I’ve encountered PR initiatives and practitioners over the years. None are (used to be “is” but no longer) innocent. With feigned self-humility and lavish hospitality, they played me and other newsroom staffers, some of whom reveled in the gifts and strokes that flowed from the ego-fertilizing PR cornucopia -- amazing thank-you gifts, product “samples” and, well, “arrangements” with their attractive colleagues.

Of course, the great newsroom ethics push that emerged prominently in the ’80s, spreading through the ’90s and into the 21st century, soured such practices to some degree. Nowadays, even a non-profit organization’s T-shirt promotion aimed at certain news departments (Features, for instance) will be sacked up and sent to a night shelter or some organization that provides clothing for the poor. Meals with PR reps are Dutch affairs. For ethical purity, no reporter should take a free meal from a practitioner or even at a civic club’s luncheon they’re covering. And no knowledgeable PR practitioner should dangle such temptations. But it happens. But it shouldn’t. But righteous ethics say, “No Freebies of Any Kind. They Compromise Your Credibility, Dear Journalist. They keell you! Eat, Drink and Revel at Your Risk.”

So I think back to my beginnings in the news business, back to the late ’60s when I began my career at my hometown newspaper, the Texarkana (Ark.-Tex.) Gazette. So many memories, but I remember in particular the Christmas holidays when the funeral homes would send their ambulance drivers and sometimes their funeral directors to our little street-level newsroom at night with gifts for us, the hard-working, barely paid news staffers.

And with what did the funeral homes ply us? Wonderful little aluminum calendar thingies that could be bent in just such a way as to clamp around our watch bands. We could have a year's worth of months-at-a-glance right there on our watch bands along with the funeral home's phone number.

Sometimes some of us would wonder: If we’re getting stuff this cool, what’s the publisher getting? What’s the ad department getting? What are the guys in the backshop getting other than drunk? I can only imagine the PR-focused gifts at such levels. Whatever they were, I doubt they outdid the gifts that flowed to sports staff at The Dallas Morning News.

As at the Gazette, I have fond (and humbling) holiday memories from my stint at The News. I recall times in 1970 when I observed cheery PR guys -- not PR womens -- dashing through the newsroom and laden with holidayish bags and boxes as they made a B-line to the sports department on the west end of the newsroom.

From my city desk vantage point near the center of the newsroom, I couldn’t tell what the heck they had for the sports guys, but that didn’t matter. Word got back to us. The sports guys got jugs of Johnnie Walker, Rolex watches and other expensive things. I can’t remember what all piled up over there, according to sources.

But we on the night city desk could not cast stones. We were also plied with PR gifts. Maybe they weren’t as elaborate as the freebies the sports guys got, but they got us past many a deadline in a merry fashion.

Every Thanksgiving and Christmas season, instead of Rolex watches and expensive scotch, we got a platter of SMU’s famous brownies and a turkey, the remains of which were stolen one year by a copy editor after the final edition shoved. I saw him do it. I had ambled to the south end of the third-floor (newsroom) hall to smoke a cigarette and stare out of the huge plate-glass window there when I looked down and saw that editor running through the parking lot with that huge, plattered turkey carcass. I watched him stuff it into the trunk of his car.

I’m not sure the turkey or the brownies scored any PR points, but they were received by editors and reporters with charitable joy.

Then there was the time around 1972 when I was working on a story related to a Dallas utility’s expensive farm operations. When I met with the head PR guy, a VP, I made the mistake of asking first, “Hey, who’s your secretary?”

Gawd, she was a beautiful long-haired brunette, single, blessed with a natural come-get-me smile and a refreshing air of decency, which, I will say to my certain condemnation, is not generally found among hard-edged, crusty newsroom women (thank God).

“What? Who is she?” the tailored, handsome VP whispered, leaning toward me. “Would you like to meet her?”

I had not matured beyond my East Texas yokel level. “Yes!” I said to the VP. And so it came to pass, on an evening not long thereafter, I was sitting in the secretary’s humble apartment living room in Oak Cliff, listening to her stories about growing up in Oklahoma and the Assembly of God church where women were extremely unlikely to be defiled. I didn’t see her again. Didn’t do that story, either. I was depressed. Tweeeeet! Victory for the utility.

But I learned some good lessons, e.g., always keep hormones in check, never get distracted from the assignment (do not ever test city editors’ patience), embrace sacrifice, hard-ass professionalism and skepticism. If you ever suspect you're being PR'd, you probably are. If you never suspect you're being PR'd, God help you.

I could go on with more anecdotes, but let’s pretend there are word limits in cyberspace.

Your turn.

What do you think of such PR practices from days of yore? Are they still going on (c’mon …)? How have PR ethics changed? What lessons have been learned? What sort of credibility can PR hope to develop?

Can credibility even be an issue in a craft that’s relies on selective truth? Is there really such a thing as a credible PR practitioner?

Who’s running the PR profession anyway? How do they impact the profession’s credibility? Is that “APR” just a fake credential? Why aren’t there more practitioners with that designation after their name? How many heads of PR agencies claim APR?

Isn’t “APR” in fact a useless string of letters? What are the issues/anecdotes that come to your mind? C’mon. Share. Madmen’s a true contemporary story, right?

September 26, 2010

Wouldn’t you know Bud Kennedy would lead a Sunday fruit page? I’m sure his many enemies enjoyed that. And his many fans (including me and my wife), who probably chuckled when they saw parallels between the ads and Bud’s topic. But I digress. And I apologize for not being able to stitch together the fruit page, but at least you get the idea.

Satr I was scrubbing skillets early this morning (had to make the 9 a.m. mass) from Saturday night’s chalupa fest when my wife, who was leafing through the paper on the breakfast counter, said: “Have you seen this?”

She held up Sunday’s gawd-awful Page 2B. “When I first started reading this page,” she said, “I kept thinking, ‘How does this art go with these stories?’ ” News readers think in such shocking ways. Then it dawned on her: This page had been savaged by invasive advertising – the kind that says: To hell with news columns. We want you, reader, to focus on these oranges, limes and that apple wth a stem in your eye. I know the eye-movement studies. You can bet that apple stem stopped more than a few readers’ eye movement as did the limes and oranges. Suggested to me that space on a page is too valuable to waste on a smart-ass columnist, another murder story and yet another environment story related to “clean-coal” power plant issues. Right? Is any of that new and compelling in its effort to open windows on life? Yawner news? Wouldn’t think so, but I’d be interested to know how readership was affected by citrus fruit rolling into Bud’s space, an apple poking into the murder story and a huge orange muscling its way into the environment story.

We’ve become accustomed to seeing ads like this that cut into news’ space. Bully for you, bully ads.

Time was when you stayed on your side of the page, and news stayed on its side. Not anymore. News (the revenue-reduction department, as I’ve heard news content ridiculed by the bean-counters) gives it up quickly for advertising. And we know why advertising can kick news’ butt these days. The for-profit model rules. Papers are struggling to find revenue wherever and however they can find it. What’s left of the news staff doesn’t care anymore, I’d guess. Let ads invade news columns. Who cares? Staff’s more likely to have a job tomorrow. Credibility may take a kidney punch, but the place is open for business tomorrow. I understand all that.

So why am I so bothered by those invasive ads? Yes, I know that 50% of readers pick up a paper for its news content and 50% of readers pick up a paper for its ad content. That’s an old but persistent and true statistic. Question is, which side is going to take it in the bum when the revenue going gets tough? And, is that even a worthwhile question to raise?

Serious readers are going to read 2B’s thought-provoking Kennedy column and those two stories even if an apple stem’s poking them in the eye. But I’d guess that less-serious readers will get mesmerized by the fruit. “Damn, Dawnie baby. Look at how this fruit kinda jumps off the page at ya. Ain't that fun?”

God bless them for subscribing or buying a single copy instead of just going online for free, but they’ll pay less attention to the news content in a space dominated by nvasive advertising. What’s so bad about that?

Readers may not learn anything. They may not form ideas and opinions based on the news content. They will be less informed, less American. They have this Florida (California?)Orange from Mars at which to gaze and contemplate. I suppose oranges and other fruits aren’t a bad thing to think about and to give thanks for, assuming they aren’t genetically engineered fruit (or, what if they are? Anyone asking?), but perhaps it would be better for less-serious readers in this environment-challenged DFW with its toxic air to be mulling environment challenges instead of the glories of oranges, limes and apples. But if one’s fixated on fruit, to heck with juicy hard news.

Another issue for me is the compromised time readers will spend with a page. It isn’t much. It’s literally seconds. Probably less than half a minute or maybe 15 seconds with Page 2B. The more time many readers spend gawking at invasive advertising because it’s so compelling visually (and we are visual creatures and can’t help that), the less time they’ll spend with news content and whatever provocative information it could impart.

Enough already. I want to see news that respects ad columns and ads that respect news columns. That’s not happening on today’s 2B. And that’s not good. Revenue can pay diminishing returns. Invasive ads send a bad signal and a troubling perception -– the S-T’s not a serious news product, it’s just a cash cow for McClatchy.

I know the S-T news staff, and I know they’re professionals, from the executive editor on down, and they reflect the respectable motivations that journalists bring to the table. But those commendable qualities are lost on much of the public these days as the anti-media forces whack and chop at the media’s credibility every chance they get. And what’s so sad is that a chunk of the public buys into what they hear. Pages like today’s 2B are no help in preserving journalism’s credibility. It’s just all about making money, right? Unfortunately, yes. But if that’s what it takes to keep excellent journalists working, then bring on papayas and mangos. And where are the bananas and bell peppers?

But I urge people who believe that the media’s only interested in profits to take a look at Pulitzer Prize-winning efforts for the past 20 or 30 years, take a look at how less-than-prize-winning coverage keeps public officials more sensitive to the need to clean up their act, take a look at how coverage inspires community forums to discuss local concerns. Case in point: debates over the City of Fort Worth’s pension issues. Journalists keep local affairs clear and honest. As much as they can.

Of course, for newspapers, all of that happens primarily on the printed page and, yes, to some degree in cyberspace nowadays (but there you have these cursed floating ads that temporarily obscure one’s ability to read the news). My point is that anything that cripples the Fourth Estate’s ability to connect with readers needs to be addressed with mucho cajones and shown the door or laughed down Seventh Street. Ain’t gonna happen, though, I fear. The prevailing idea, it seems, is to embrace money first and First Amendment stuff maybe will follow.

The for-profit model takes out journalists' kneecaps very proficiently.

But it bothers the hell out of me when I think that oranges, limes and apples are all it takes to inflict a crippling blow on credible sources of reliable news and information. At least we haven’t seen that sort of invasiveness yet on the sports pages and the editorial/op-ed pages where J.R. Labbe, Bob Ray Sanders, Linda Campbell and Mike Norman have been spared the fruit bullying.

Thank God. Those are some of the brightest lights in this city as are Celeste Williams, Randy Galloway, Gil Lebreton and colleagues. But that’s sort of easy to understand. Thinking people, the types who read editorial/op-ed content at least, and sports fans whose passions bulldoze ads’ attempts to stop their brawls, are not low-hanging fruit who can be distracted easily. They’re not worth ad dollars unless those ads can match the passions in whose presence they presume to plop and command attention. Could happen, but those readers set the bar high – way too high for advertising of Madmen’s ilk. And I love that. Show me an ad that can rivet attnetion on an op-ed or sports page, and I'll show you an ad that's damn genius stuff.

Make those ad/pr people work their butts off -- just like news staff does. Fight like hell over the space on news pages. Knock heads. You good enough to get in that fight? Yes? No?

Bottom line: Make ads work harder in their space. Don’t invade news columns. They need to be strong enough not to coattail on news' muscle. After all, news organization’s credibility gives ads their value. Yes? If you don't agree, you're not much of ad/pr person. If you do agree, you need to tell the S-T to quit selling its space on the (credibility) cheap.

September 21, 2010

Interesting play art on today's Your Life cover in the Star-Telegram: a photo illustration for the lead story, "Fall books preview." The art was a collage of photos of famous people whose books will be coming out soon.

Take a long look. Is there anything about the photo illustration that bothers you? Perhaps not. But I imagine that the paper's reader advocate phone line quickly filled with furious, outspoken conservatives provoked by an illustration that, in their view, deliberately slighted icons Ronald Reagan and George Bush.

Instead (I can hear them say, because in my ombuddy days I got so many calls like this) the illustration by the liberal media glorified "arch liberals" -- Jon Stewart, Steve Martin, Barack Obama, Barbra Streisand and some brunette who's probably just as bad as they are. And I can imagine the readers' accusations:

-- George Bush looks like a ghost. George should've been where Jon is.

-- I'm not letting my kids see this liberal-media propaganda.

-- I'm not letting my grandkids see this liberal-media propaganda.

-- I'm cancelling my subscription to the liberal media. I've had it with your liberal bias.

-- Rush Limbaugh's right. There's a "media crisis" in America.

-- This is a sad day in America.

There's no escaping political aspects of anything anymore, it seems. Not even authors. Perhaps there never has been.

In this area, the heaviest conservative market in Texas, the most provocative aspect of this photo illustration, I think, is not just the secondary place given to Reagan and Bush but the near-transparent treatment of Bush's photo. That's asking for trouble. I imagine trouble followed.

If you had been the editor in charge of pulling together this photo illustration, how would you have handled it? Would politicization issues have crossed your mind? If so, would that have made any difference in how you would have designed the piece? What other aspects would you have considered?

Given the demographic with which papers aim to connect (younger readers in general) and given Stewart's popularity among them, I may have kept Stewart as the dominant image for a boost in relevance.

But given the demographic of subscribers (older conservatives) and readers who expect fairness, I would've strengthened Bush's picture somehow to provide as much relevance as possible for them. I'm not sure I would've replaced that brunette, whoever she is, with Bush, because there are only two women in the collage and five men, and correctness dictates that some sense of equivalent prominence be given to the women.

Whatever. I'm sure those and Lord knows how many other issues got a thorough airing today on the reader advocate's phone. Did you think about calling? 817-390-7692

September 15, 2010

I learned that from him during my eight years at the Star-Telegram, seven of which were spent as the paper’s reader advocate.

On most Friday afternoons, a little before 4, I’d hear the crescendo of John’s buzzing motorized wheelchair approaching my office off the newsroom as he made his way down the hall. He would drop by before beginning the night shift on the copy desk where he worked parttime. And he would roll in with a big smile.

“John Dycus!” I’d exclaim. “How in the world are you?"

“I’m blessed,” he’d say, or some version of that. His wheelchair was a blessing. His equipment that helped him operate it was a blessing. His specially equipped van was a blessing. But, to me and his friends, his intellectual acumen, keen sense of justice and ethics and his hilarious sense of humor were and are something far more than blessings. They were exceptional gifts, and John showered us with them and the inspiration and encouragement they radiated. You see all those qualities at work in his wonderful website.

I looked forward to those brief Friday afternoon visits with John. We talked about all sorts of things –- what the readers had been saying that day, John's musings, the copy desk’s killer Friday-night copy flow laden with big Sunday stories moving late, credibility issues, plagiarism developments, and, until my wife died of breast cancer in 2005, he would always ask sincerely: “How’s your wife?”

After Dale’s death, I didn’t get to see John much. I was moved from the third-floor office to the second-floor editorial board office where editorial writing was added to my duties in response to my interest in learning that part of the craft. Friday afternoons were spent proofing weekend and Monday editorial and op-ed pages.

If someone asked how I was doing, I knew to say, as I’d learned from listening to and observing John: “I’m blessed,” and I meant it.

Later, when Andra came into my life in such a beautiful way, and we were married, John’s ovations poured forth whenever we bumped into each other.

“How are you?” he’d ask, smiling from ear to ear. “I’m blessed,” I’d say with joy. “You sure are!” he’d reply. John knows Andra and respects her skills as a communicator/writer and her integrity every bit as much as he admires her lovely charisma. And she holds him in mutual esteem.

I’m writing this because today I learned this morning that John will be honored Oct. 5 in Las Vegas with the national Society of Professional Journalists’ Howard S. Dubin Outstanding Professional Member Award. I just want to say, "Congratulations John."

The award recognizes an SPJ member who has made considerable contributions to his or her local SPJ chapter and region. Read about the award here.

There’s no more worthy honoree than John, a master freelance editor who retired in 1998 from a distinguished and honored 28-year career at the University of Texas at Arlington. Read about some of that here.

John has been a devoted member of SPJ for 36 years and has been a cornerstone for the Fort Worth chapter. Think “SPJ,” and “John Dycus” comes to mind. Organizer, fundraiser, promoter, champion -– he’s all those things for SPJ, and he’s always there when needed, which is often.

I started wondering about a couple of things as I thought about SPJ honoring John. What attracted him to journalism and what has kept him in the craft?

I was embarrassed to admit to myself that I’d never asked him. So I did. I e-mailed him with some questions for this blog. He called, and we talked for a while.

John told me he’d taken a journalism class during his senior year, 1964-65, at Paschal High School in Fort Worth. His teacher, he said, was the inimitable Margaret Caskey, a brilliant teacher who wheeled around “in a big ol’ wide-mouth green Buick.”

He remembers only one story he wrote for the school newspaper: what life was like for someone in a wheelchair during those frantic minutes in between bells when moving from one class to the next. The photographer, John said, shot pictures from John’s view.

He enjoyed that class but didn’t major in journalism when he entered UTA. He was advised that a career in accounting would be something he could do physically as well as intellectually. “That wouldn’t be too popular a view these days,” he said. But he agreed and was graduated with a degree in accounting.

After graduation, he was job-searching when he received an interesting offer from UTA’s legendary Student Publications Director Dorothy Estes. She wanted to know if John would be interested in a staff position with her operation.

He took the offer and grew into the beloved, respected Shorthorn adviser and then associate director of student publications. That’s how John got into journalism.

“It was something I could do,” he said. But he also reveled in the freedoms of professional journalism, the craft and issues, and the captivating colleagues. I can attest that when journalism gets into one’s blood, there’s no substitute or antidote, assuming burnout or some other curse doesn’t take its toll.

John and I share many colleagues’ concerns about threats to journalism -– increasing disrespect for journalists out there in our politically tormented world filled with more propaganda and less truth than ever, newsroom morale challenges in shouldering increased workloads from staff cuts while wondering whether and where the axe will fall next, the for-profit model’s impact on quality, etc., etc.

Ah, but when all of that weighs on us, when specters swarm around us, we lift up our hearts. Times may be hard, daily struggles may be tough, but we say in unison and with conviction: “I’m blessed.”

May 11, 2010

The race to get news online invites editing lapses that lead to publication of raw to near-raw copy that can carry embarrassing error perhaps not in facts but in the writing. I'd suspect that's what happened in the following sentence from an online report yesterday about the deadly tornadoes that hit the Oklahoma City area:

"It's unknown how many tornadoes actually touched down in Grant County this afternoon, but Wakita Police Chief Dean Bellin saw about five rotating clouds combine as baseball-size hail plummeted the area."

See the questionable word? I suspect the writer meant "pummeled" instead of "plummeted." Still, it's admirable to see hustle in getting news to the public, even if its credibility arrives slightly dented.

April 28, 2010

Today is the second anniversary of my release from the Star-Telegram, the end of my newspaper career and the beginning of my freelance career.

I’ve been trying to think of what to say. So far, it’s “.”

It’s not the first time I’ve been at a loss for words.

I didn’t know what to say in 1964 when that chunky Marine recruiter told me: “Son, we can’t take you.” Why, sir? Epilepsy from a baseball head injury. Line drive between the eyes left a scar on my brain. Caused epilepsy. I grew out of it but not before the Marines rejected me, I’d also failed a physical to be a commercial pilot (my other great dream) and, later, a physical for the Dallas Police Department. No one wanted me, not even the U.S. Army postal operations. “Epilepsy” frightened everyone back then. Still does, I'd guess.

But the injury steered me to journalism, thanks to my columnist mom who got me my first job. Newspapers. They took me. And I had a great career. Dallas, Denver, St. Petersburg, Corpus Christi (to help rebuild that wonderful Gulf Coast daily through the '90s). And some other places. Couldn’t imagine my career ever ending but knew it would someday. Just not the way it happened. I became part of the Fourth Estate’s 21st-century rubble. Kills me to see newspapers withering. But then I see journalism blossoming on the Web, and I’m up again. (Check out the Texas Tribune.) There are awesome possibilities for bona fide journalism on the Web. Let's pray that it overcomes all the uninformed, self-serving garbage opinion that's filling cyberspace.

But I have been so blessed these past two years. Overcame a goodly amount of humiliating experiences such as that awful process of applying for state unemployment benefits (oxymoron) and sending out around 70 resumes, only one of which drew a thank-you-but response (from Concussion ad agency in Fort Worth … thank you, Concussion). Age matters. Anyone who says otherwise is full of crap. Not having a master’s degree also matters. I couldn’t teach even at TCC because I hadn’t paid my way through a f*****g research degree. Galling. Exec editor earlier, but I couldn’t teach freshmen how to write a spot news story? How does that square?

Still, I have done some pretty good work for the Fort Worth Chamber of Commerce (bless you, Marilyn Gilbert and Andra Bennett), Tarrant County College (bless you, Donna Darovich), NewsCorp (bless you, Scott Norvell) and some other folks (bless you all). I’m pretty much proud of the work, and who could ask for anything better than to feel reasonably good about their next-stage work that had been reduced to zilch in the newspaper industry?

But that’s all about work. Real stuff is home and family, and I’ve been incredibly blessed by my wife, Andra, who I never expected to be my wife or much in my life. I thought I was on my way to seminary in Milwaukee. Late-life vocation to the priesthood after losing my wife, Dale, to breast cancer. God had a better idea: Andra. And there’s our wonderful home, the gardens I plant and tend, the anoles and other critters I chat with daily when it's warm enough for them to be out and about, our home office that can rock as much as any newsroom on some high-pressure days. My daughters and grandchildren.

And there’s tomorrow. I still have that sense of “tomorrow,” thank God. I’m still here because I still have something to do, I believe. What would that be? God, literally, knows. But, hey, Lord, give me the assignment. And bless all journalists everywhere.